Page 12 of The Prince from a Cruel Summer
Smiling like a lunatic, I comb my wet hair away from my face, the strands heavy with mist and sweat. No one can know about tonight, but now that she made it into the academy, she’ll be mine. Darkling or not, I will marry that girl.
Chapter 4
Moths and Crows
SONGBIRD
The closing horn resonates across the lawn. The hedges behind me sew themselves shut, and my heart pounds in my throat. I crossed the finish line seconds ago and struggle to catch my breath, arms braced on my knees.
I’ve done it. I crossed the labyrinth and made it into the academy.
But at what price,my inner self snickers. My lips are tingling. My hand, my face, my belly… A part of me wants to backtrack into the marshes to look for my handsome devil, but I dig the balls of my feet in the grass.
He wasn’t real. Absolutely not. A man as beautiful as that would never give you the time of day.
I blink away the volatile emotions of the last hour and observe my surroundings.
The set up on this side of the maze is identical to the starting point but for the intoxicated crowd in the bleachers. The alumni of the academy, along with the immediate families of the applicants, were invited to attend, but my father remained in Wintermere. His boss doesn’t like his personal assistant to wander off, so there’s no shouts or howls of encouragement to greet my success.
If anything, I’m probably to blame for the raucous, unhappy clamor rising from one side of the bleachers.
I shake off the urge to cry, waiting for one of the judges to call me out for breaking the rules.
The three of them whisper between themselves, stealing nervous glances at me, but Master Evelyn finally clears her throat. “Cutting it close, Miss Snow. But well done.” She stands up and motions for the students laying on the lawn to approach.
I quickly take stock of the small group. Five other applicants made it through before me, and they peel themselves from the large pillows sprawled under the torchlight.
Elio jogs toward me. “Beth! You made it!”
Willow’s lips spread in a satisfied smile. “That’ll teach them.”
A boy keeps close to her rear, his eyes the exact same color, and I figure he’s a Summer Fae, too.
Zeke and the girl he was flirting with earlier are the last to stand up. My fiancé looks down his nose at me. “You’re full of surprises, moth.” He punctuates the statement with a wink, and his gaze trails down my sweaty body, my skin tightening under his scrutiny.
“Congratulations to the six initiates who managed to get through the challenge in time. You’ve proven yourselves worthy of your place here. I need your signatures in the official ledger.” Master Evelyn sets out ink and a quill for us to sign our full names in her voluminous leather-bound ledger. It’s a big deal. True names allow powerful Fae, especially royals, to enchant others with ease, but Master Evelyn carefully flips the page between each initiate to prevent us from seeing anyone else’s name.
I go last, and the date written at the top of the page catches my eye.
With the scorching humidity, it’s easy to forget that it’s still technically winter across the continent. Faerie has seven seasons, but it’s almost always warm here in the Summerlands. The school year starts right after Alaveen, the season of endings and new beginnings.
The quill is steady in my hand as I sign my full name, Elizabeth Melia Snow.
Once we’ve all signed, Master Evelyn closes the ledger and holds it to her chest. “I hope you’re all ready to work hard and give us your best.”
The lump in my throat throbs.
“Now, if the judges would join me in the maze, we still have to congratulate the guardians and rescue the poor students who didn’t cut it.”
The other judges walk to Master Evelyn’s side, while Master Idris clasps his hands together to get our attention. “Initiates, come with me. I will take you on a quick tour of the academy and show you to your dorms so you can freshen up for the feast.” From the way he’s grinning, I figure his precious daughter is the Spring Fae Zeke was flirting with.
I try to hide the jitters as I fall into step with the others. Only an hour ago, they were on such a high pedestal that I could barely picture myself among them. A searing glow hovers in my chest, making me feel fuzzy and light—yet I still feel incomplete. Pieces of me are scattered along the labyrinth, as if every challenge and trap took its pound of flesh.
Truth be told, I left my heart at Wonder Boy's feet.
As we approach, the grandeur of the Royal Academy ties up my tongue.
The main building is called the Abbey because of its stern, ominous look and its bloody religious past. The main tower rises several stories higher than the four long wings that extend from its corners. Vines creep along the weathered stone walls, covering about a third of the building's surface.
